


Something Borrowed

by kateyboosh



Category: The Mighty Boosh RPF
Genre: A break from the usual banter and fun, A very thin veil of plot, But very meaningful dialogue, Kind of Porn Without Plot, M/M, Okay fine I'm getting out of the tags now bye, Some Yearning, Straight up Noelian, To go with the wedding dress, Very little dialogue, a little bit of longing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:08:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25095871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kateyboosh/pseuds/kateyboosh
Summary: Something old, something new, something borrowed, and a scene that's very blue. Noel in a wedding dress, Noel out of a wedding dress. Some yearning, next to no dialogue and no banter, but certain three-word phrases are spoken.
Relationships: Julian Barratt/Noel Fielding
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	Something Borrowed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starsonthebrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsonthebrow/gifts).



> [And how about Old Gregg?](https://www.vulture.com/2009/07/mighty_boosh_ivu.html)  
> “We have no idea where these things come from, we just talk and it all comes out.” Julian Barratt  
> “He genuinely loves Howard, but he’s confused.” Noel Fielding
> 
> Listen. A lot of things happened in that episode. The one where they play characters that are basically (as always) themselves, just exaggerated. You know, the one that they wrote themselves, yet they have no idea where these things came from. Things like engagement rings, wedding dresses, declarations of love. Things like “I could make you happy, Howard, if only you’d let me." Things like, "You get what you want, Old Gregg gets what he wants. A strong man to hold me at night when it’s raining outside.” A lot of vulnerable, yearning type things that twist my heartstrings into knots and make me want to write fix it and make [killahdillah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/killahdillah/) want to pull her hair out and see Noel in a garter. This is the result of all those things.

_**Something new** _

The heels of Noel’s boots click on the pavement.

He’s out and about shopping, enjoying walking around on an off day from filming. It feels good, getting out of the flat to stretch his legs and walk around, get rid of some excess energy in the sunshine. It’s one of those days where he has money to spend that’s practically burning a hole in his pocket, and plenty of options on offer that are okay, but not perfect. He’s seen a lot of things in the shops and in the market that have been easy to walk away from, pretty tops and vintage carpets and old sets of books that looked interesting from a distance but disappointed him up close as he ran his fingers over the worn pages. Maybe it was meant to be a window shopping day instead.

He wonders what Julian’s doing, if he’s at home with a book and a cup of tea, puttering around in his worn-out slippers, or if he’s down the pub or locked in his room working on music. His phone is stuffed in his front pocket; he thinks about texting him and asking him to meet, go out and waste the afternoon doing nothing special. Like they used to do.

“I’m out window shopping, come carry my imaginary purchases? x”

He smirks, imagining the response. “Window shopping ? bay ? Sash ? Perhaps something nice with bars would suit you .”

He nearly does it, dipping his hand into his pocket for his phone when he spots a little shop on the corner. The display is tiny, some cute black lacy numbers arrayed in the window. He pauses, then goes in. For a giggle. Might as well, as long as he’s window shopping.

The inside of the shop is small, white satin and pink lace and red silk clinging to dainty hangers. He looks around for a bit standing in the doorway, then heads for a little table packed with satin knickers and expensive hose and other underthings, inviting in the middle of the shop.

He runs his finger down the seam at the back of a stocking, smirk back on his face, feeling like a naughty schoolboy skiving off. He gives the table a once-over. A lot of okay things, pink watered silk and pinstriped pants and cherry red fishnets. He’s got red fishnets and other delights like these in his bottom dresser drawer at home; very pretty, but easy to pass up. Until a tiny scrap of lace at the back edge of the table catches his eye. A garter.

He spots it at the same time his phone buzzes. It’s a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend or someone like that. He answers and listens vaguely as he turns the garter over in his hands. Yes, a party. Yes, an afterparty. Yes, an after-afterparty. All very exciting. All his, tonight, if he wants. Just say the words and the ever-shrinking, ever-tightening, ever-present velvet ropes will part.

He takes the garter to the counter and buys it before the call ends, shaking his head when the girl starts to wrap it, smiling at her and tucking it in his pocket as he exits the shop.

He walks home and spends the rest of the day drawing himself into a corner, a pile of dead biros at his feet, tiny wide-eyed bush babies clinging to the backs of broad bulls sleeping on the pages of his notebook. He yawns, sketching cups of tea and candles and ice creams with faces in the margins. _Should have come back with pens and pencils and pastels and paints, enough to pile to the ceiling_ _. A barricade of art supplies._ He drops off into a dreamless slumber tracing the bull’s closed eye with a fingertip, his phone staring back at him from the crack in the sofa cushions, the garter slung out of his back pocket.

*

_**Something borrowed** _

Noel borrows the clothing that he likes from wardrobe. Certain items, he knows he can get away with if they go missing for a day or two, as long as they’re back before they have to be returned to whomever they’ve been rented from. Other things, they’ll get from charity shops and no one minds if those disappear for a few weeks or for forever. Some pieces are off limits, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t try. He can’t count the number of times he’s nearly made off with the punk jacket from the pilot and the first series, pink studs gleaming on perfectly worn leather from 1977. So close, the jacket hugging his back like it was custom made, and then he’ll hear a voice calling his name from the wardrobe room and have to go slinking back down the hallway like a sheepish dog, scolded for the tenth time after chewing the furniture.

But he knows what to do. He gives his best puppy eyes, hands the jacket back over and gets away with it, a mischievous grin on his face until the next time.

A week more of cameras and marks and forgotten lines that they’ve written themselves and they’ll wrap on the second series, but today, he’s tired after a long stretch of filming. He’s lying on the sofa in wardrobe, his boots slouched next to him as he dangles one bare, aching foot over the arm and fidgets with a rack of clothing. He idly pushes at the fabrics, looking around to see who’ll chew him out if he snags something fun to wear later in the week. There’s a couple of vintage numbers he’d like to permanently disappear into his own closet, but he knows he should behave.

He sighs as he moves fabric aside, bright colors and patterns, itchy wools and soft tweeds. Leather capes, sensible trousers, spare buttondowns, stretchy leopard leggings. He flips past a lot of okay, but nothing perfect. Until he spots white lace and satin. He grins.

It’s a charity shop find, ideal to fall off the face of the earth. A little tug, a tweak of something in his core sends him from lying down to sliding the wedding dress off the rack in a second. He doesn’t think further, he just folds the dress carefully into his bag, pulling out scarves and accessories, stashing a can of hairspray and some magazines that won’t fit back inside under the sofa.

Perfect.

For something. He doesn’t know what yet. He tries not to think too hard about it. He’s too tired to think too hard about anything anyway. He just knows he’ll have it when he needs it.

* 

A few weeks pass. They finish filming the second series. He draws more animals, kills more biros, attends parties and afterparties and after-afterparties, each space getting smaller and smaller until they’re encapsulated like Russian dolls. The dress hangs in the back of Noel’s closet, and no one worries about where it’s gotten off to.

Next weekend, Julian comes to his flat. They have so many projects coming up; the usual interviews and appearances and talk of the tour looming over them. They’re both tired, and they’re both a little stressed, and it’s pissing down rain outside, gray and cool and not inspiring to write anything. It’s a day to sit curled up underneath a blanket and watch crap TV and maybe eat some soup and fall asleep with your head pillowed on someone’s chest. They still make an attempt to write, Noel perched on the sofa arm closest to Julian, balancing delicately on his shoulder to see what he’s typed.

They end up goofing off more than anything, accidentally knocking cooling cups of tea over onto the carpet and over a pile of magazines and nearly down the back of the sofa. When both of them almost drink out of a mug of paint water left on the table in front of them, Julian closes the laptop and slides it under the sofa. It reminds Noel of his hairspray, stashed for safekeeping back in the studio and then forgotten.

It reminds him of the dress in his closet.

When Julian gets up to go to the kitchen and dump out the remnants of cold cups of tea and paint water that have tucked themselves onto shelves and windowsills before they flood the flat, Noel sneaks to his bedroom to put the dress on.

For a joke. Because it’s funny, and they could both use a little laughter. Lighten the gray day, lighten the mood. 

He swallows a little thickly when he opens the closet door. 

*

_**Something blue** _

He strips out of his shirt and drainpipes, leaving his little blue pants, and slips the dress up over his hips, the satin rustling in the quiet gray light filtering into his bedroom.

Before he puts his arms into the sleeves, he unbuckles the leather cuff from around his wrist. The lace fits tight to his forearms and he doesn’t want it to snag. It feels strange to him to be without any accessories, nothing on his wrists but delicate lace. He hesitates, fixing the hem of the sleeve, then slides his dresser drawer open, reaching to the very back for a thin silver bracelet wrapped in a scarf. The metal is cool when he hooks it over his wrist.

He’s careful to meet his own eyes when he looks up in the mirror, adjusting his hair, keeping his view on his flushed face as he swipes his fringe away from his brow. 

He trips himself up getting to the doorway, the layers of his skirt tangling around his legs. He hesitates when he remembers the garter. He knows he has to hurry; he wants Julian to come back to find him draped over the sofa _Man Who Sold the World_ Bowie style, playing with the lace of his sleeve, a coy expression on his face. He’s expecting Julian to chuckle when he sees him. He wants to slide the dress up, mischief glinting in his eyes, flash his garter and laugh right back when Julian’s brows shoot up to his forehead and he doubles over with giggles. That’s all he wants, to make Julian laugh, and to…. To find the garter. That’s it.

He turns around, grabbing a handful of skirt and moving it out of his way as he searches for what he was wearing when he bought the garter. He digs through his laundry basket, tossing t-shirts aside until he finds the drainpipes. The garter is still half-hanging out of the back pocket, the lace brushing soft against his palm. He feels his heart pulling toward his throat as he slides it up his leg, at the same time that the dress starts to slide down his shoulders.

He bites his lip. He didn’t realize how many buttons were up the back of the dress; they’re tiny and the satin is slippery and his hands are sweating a bit out of nowhere. The seams at his waist are so tight, it’s impossible to twist to get them done up. He settles on trying to get the top three at the back of his neck done, just enough to keep the dress from slipping off of his shoulders so he can at least be waiting in the doorway to the sitting room when Julian gets back, if not reclining on the sofa. 

He’s not fast enough, twisting around to try to look over his shoulder in the mirror as the satin slips through his fingers. He makes a frustrated little noise in the back of his throat just as Julian nudges the door of his room open. He turns, one hand coming up from the back of his neck to ruffle the hair at the crown of his head.

Noel tries to put mischief and humor and a secret little dirty smile on his face, and when Julian sees him, there’s a tiny hint Julian might laugh. A twinkle of amusement quirks at his lips as his eyes dart from the short train of the dress to his waist wrapped in smooth satin to his flushed cheeks.

Julian’s face goes still. Calm. None of the usual million expressions a second. Not even a gaze, one of the ones that make Noel want to freeze and squirm simultaneously. Noel can see his mind moving even if his expression isn’t. 

Even though it’s just the two of them in the flat, Julian shuts the bedroom door behind him. When he turns, his expression is soft, his eyes warm. His hair is different and his clothes are different and his face is covered in dark stubble, but in the fading light of the early evening, he looks like he did the night they first met. 

Noel feels the mischief melt off of his face. His breath is stuck in his chest as Julian looks at him. His smile is shy and he feels a little silly, the dark hair on his forearms poking out through the lace. He feels funny. Not amusing funny; funny like he doesn’t know where to put his hands or his eyes. He settles on the carpet, watching his toes dig into the plush shag. He’d be more confident right now if he was completely naked, spread out on the sofa, his body bare and open and waiting, knees pulled up to his chest.

Words have failed the both of them this afternoon, so Julian doesn’t say anything. He crosses the room instead, his hands falling first to Noel’s waist, the seams of the dress and Julian’s fingers snug against his ribs. The warmth from Julian’s hand radiates through the satin. He gasps at the touch of the first buttonhole to his back as Julian runs his fingers slowly down, careful not to touch his bare skin as they dip along the loops. Noel shivers when he reaches the base of his spine, his head ducked to his chest. He’s afraid if he looks up, the moment will disappear like some type of fever dream, leave him alone in the flat flooded with cold cups of tea and dead biros at his feet. 

Julian’s fingers are warm and familiar but his touch is still thrilling on Noel’s bare skin when he slides his hand up his back, caressing, his fingers seeking out the spaces between Noel’s vertebrae. His cock starts to fill at the touch, a slow rush of blood traveling down his body that leaves him slightly dizzy.

The tiny satin-covered buttons tickle his skin as he breathes. He wishes he could have reached more of them when Julian slides his fingers up toward his neck and starts undoing the buttons slowly, with the utmost care, as if they’ll break if he touches them too roughly. He can feel the concentration in Julian’s hands as he slips them loose from the delicate loops. Julian’s touch is feather light when he parts the dress and brushes Noel’s hair back from the nape of his neck, dropping a kiss there.

One of Julian’s hands comes to rest at his waist, holding him as he kisses the back of his neck, lips pressing gently between the ridges of his spine. His other hand folds back the dress, drawing it over Noel’s shoulder and down his arm. Julian guides the fabric off of his other shoulder and the dress slips around his waist like a whisper, the ends of the tight sleeves dangling around his fingertips. He doesn’t move and he barely breathes, concentrating on Julian’s lips on his skin, staring at the trail of hair on his stomach sliding down into the soft white layers of fabric tangled around his waist.

Julian runs one hand over his chest, a slow slide over his heart, brushing his nipple, moving down his soft, pale skin until he reaches the fabric of the dress. He runs his hand down lower, pushing past the layers of lace and satin and the cotton of his blue pants until he finds Noel’s cock, just holding him there. Noel’s heart is beating wildly in his chest; Julian’s big hand and the press of his cock through his jeans at the small of Noel’s back and his breath skating over Noel’s bare shoulders sends sparks across his skin.

Julian reaches over his shoulder to press a soft kiss to Noel’s jaw, and the gentleness of every one of his touches breaks something inside of Noel. He looks up and meets Julian’s eyes in the mirror, turning to kiss him.

It’s gentle and deep, being held and kissed by Julian like this, his hand caressing, brushing up Noel’s throat, fingers resting on his jaw. It feels like watching waves reshape the surface of a beach. It feels like breathing.

Julian brings his hand back up out of his pants, the fabric of the dress rustling. He rests it flat against Noel’s stomach, fingers splayed as he catches his breath. He slides the dress down Noel’s hips, the inside-out sleeves popping over his hands, loose and waiting. He presses back against Julian’s chest, a cool puddle of satin and lace pooled against his feet. 

Julian turns him and Noel thinks he’s going to kiss him, his eyes falling shut, his lips parted. He scoops Noel up instead, lifting him like he weighs nothing, carrying him the short distance to the bed. Julian lays him down in his cool sheets. He trails kisses down Noel’s neck, leaning over him as he unzips his jeans. Noel hears his belt buckle hit the carpet with a muted thump and then Julian’s mouth is gone as he pulls back to take off his t-shirt.

His hands are back around Noel’s waist a second later, guiding him to sit up, pulling him to the edge of the bed. Julian kicks his jeans and pants behind him, one leg still stuck around his ankle as he kneels. His kisses on the inside of Noel’s thighs are light and ticklish as he moves toward the garter. He tangles his fingers in the delicate lace of the band and he leans up, a hand on the back of Noel’s neck pulling him down into a kiss.

Noel’s lips go a bit slack when he feels Julian start to slide the tiny lacy band down the thick muscle of his thighs, the material rustling over his dark hair. Julian breaks the kiss and eases Noel’s hips up off of the bed, pulling his blue pants down to his ankles. 

He stays kneeling, kissing at Noel’s stomach, sliding his tongue over the taut muscles, dipping lower, until he takes the head of Noel’s cock into his mouth and swirls his tongue. A tiny moan drops from Noel’s parted lips, and Julian takes more of him, hollowing his cheeks as he slowly sucks, gripping the base. He builds up a languid rhythm, his thumb rubbing over Noel’s hipbone, anchoring him.

One of Noel’s hands curls in the sheets and one comes up to cup the back of Julian’s head, his fingers threading loosely in Julian’s hair. His eyes are warm when he pulls back, watching the rise and fall of breath in Noel’s chest. Noel touches gently at his face, fingertips skating over the ridge of his cheek, along the rasp of his stubble. The bracelet catches the fading light when he moves.

Julian wraps a hand around his wrist, his fingers warm on the cool metal as he meets Noel’s eyes. He kisses his wrist, Noel’s pulse fluttering in the gap of the bracelet, then up his arm, his tongue licking at the bend. He guides Noel back onto the center of the bed, crawling up over him. Julian’s skin is so warm and his kisses are so gentle and the weight of his broad, strong body as Noel curls his hands around his waist feels so safe. 

Julian holds him and kisses him deep, his tongue sliding between Noel’s parted lips, before reaching for the lube in the bedside table. He skates slick fingers up Noel’s erection, stroking him until he’s coated, moving his fingers lower to circle Noel’s hole as he draws a leg to his chest. He closes his eyes as Julian opens him, steadies his breathing, tries to calm the beat of his heart in his chest. He tucks his chin into his shoulder, fingers carding through his own hair. When Julian curls his fingers inside, rubbing over his prostate, he loses his grip on his ankle, tiny whimpers escaping from his throat.

He squeezes his eyes shut, listening to Julian slick his own erection, spreading his legs wider when the mattress shifts and Julian moves between them. His breath flutters in his chest when Julian guides the head of his cock against his slick hole. He sinks into Noel slowly, filling him an inch at a time, dipping down to suck at his collarbone once he’s fully inside.

He knows just how to move, drawing out his strokes until Noel’s body is hot and trembling, pushing in deeply, angling to hit his prostate until Noel is moaning, mewling, whimpering. Sparks dance in his vision, his pulse pounding in his ears every time Julian thrusts into him. He arches up to meet him, bracing himself with fistfuls of the twisted sheets.

It’s nearly too much, how Julian anticipates what he needs, how he knows exactly when and how to give it to him. The darkening room magnifies the sensation, the last traces of light falling on Julian’s shoulders as he moves. He’s the only thing Noel sees, the only thing he can focus on, the only thing he cares about. He gasps when Julian slows and presses forward to kiss at the pulse in his neck, sliding his hands under his shoulders. He scoops Noel up weightlessly, his hands spread across Noel’s back as he brings them both up, Noel’s legs wrapping around his back,his arms around Julian’s neck, their chests pressed together tightly. He lets Julian part his lips, lets him kiss him deeply as he starts to rock his hips, both of them nearly there.

Julian keeps an arm around his shoulders, holding him as he moves in Julian’s lap. He reaches for Noel’s hand, moving it in between the press of their bodies, guiding him until he wraps it around his own slick, leaking cock. Julian holds his wrist, holds the bracelet there, as he starts to move his hand.

He’s so close, a thin thread separating him from the flood of pleasure they’re reaching, his hand hot on his cock, Julian’s mouth wet and open on his. Noel can’t help the rush of words when Julian pulls back for breath. His eyelids flutter as he grips the back of Julian’s neck.

“Julian. Julian, I love you, Julian, please, I love you,” he moans, his voice soft and hazy and desperate. He needs him to know, he needs to tell him, he needs him to understand-

“Ssssh, I know. I know.” Julian squeezes his wrist, fingers tight around the metal. “I love you.”

That’s all it takes. The thread snaps and he’s coming, safe and warm and held.

* 

_**Something old** _

They go without telling anyone one weekend.

They roll out of Julian’s big bed, hair rumpled, tossing tangled flares and tennis shoes into a shared suitcase, giggling as they lock the flat door behind them. They get in Julian’s beater of a car, tuning the radio and thumping the door panels until the speakers come to life, and they drive.They end up in a seaside town in a tiny hole-in-the-wall B&B, dumping the suitcase at the foot of the bed before going back out.

They wander around, in and out of cafes and bookstores and funky little shops that end in an area full of market stalls.

They’ve seen a lot of okay, but nothing perfect. Not until Noel spots the bracelet.

It’s thin and delicate, the silver finely wrought and polished and smoothed by time. It’s the plainest piece the seller has nestled on black velvet, shining among turquoise and gold and a scattered chain of emeralds, but it’s the one that stands out to him.

Noel reaches into both of his front pockets and comes up short, shooting the kind-eyed woman an apologetic look. Before he can say he’s sorry, he must have left his cash in his other jeans back at the B&B, Julian’s behind him, bills out. He waits until the woman turns away before taking Noel’s arm in his hand, slipping the bracelet around his wrist gently. Noel feels himself flush as Julian folds his hand into his, leading him out of the market.

Julian pays for everything the rest of the day, until he runs out of money buying them a couple of ice creams. He shrugs and smiles; he didn’t bring much to begin with. He plays with his change, leaning over to tuck the coins into Noel’s front pocket. They walk back to the B&B to get Noel’s crumpled wad of bills, listening to the sea lap at the beach in the distance.

When he finds his tangled jeans in the suitcase and stands with the money in his hand, Julian reaches for it, tossing it on the corner of the mattress and kissing him with cold, sweet lips.

They don’t go back out that afternoon, Julian kissing up and down his neck, his hand wrapped around Noel’s wrist and the bracelet as he rocks his hips into him, slow and gentle like the waves sliding over the sand on the beach, reshaping the landscape into new forms with each touch.

He’s so close when Julian murmurs into his neck, three little words, over and over again like a mantra, his hand tight around Noel’s wrist, warming the metal against his skin. Noel comes in a rush, laughing breathlessly, impossible to keep that much joy contained.


End file.
